“Want to hear a funny story?” Roland asked me over the phone this afternoon. (He is back with friends in Hampshire until Friday when he’ll be off home to Australia.)

And this is what he told me…

This morning Roland was having a cup of coffee in a cafe when he noticed a young man of around thirty in the distance; the fellow was unshaven, scruffy and dirty, and walked with a limp.

Later on Roland went for a long walk with his friends, and later on still, he took another walk into Fleet and, on his way home, he called into his local, “The Fox and Hound”, for a beer. He chose to sit in the beer garden, which has a canal at the back of it.

Roland was rolling a cigarette when he saw the same dishevelled young man from earlier coming along the canal path. The loner advanced and asked:

“Excuse me mate, have you got a whistler?”

“A what?” responded Roland.

“A whistler,” came the reply.

“I’m sorry but I don’t know what you mean,” explained Roland.

“You know – a whistler!” said the young man, no doubt frustrated. (He must have thought that Roland was as deaf as a post.)

In desperation the young man did a little mime and rolled and imaginary cigarette.

“Ah, I see, you mean a Rizla (a brand name of cigarette papers)!” Roland got the picture. “I thought you were asking if a had a whistler!”

“No, I’ve had a lisp since I was kid,” the younger man answered.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I thought you meant a whistler – I didn’t understand,” said our friend. “Wait a minute and I’ll get you more than that…”

And he went over to the bin by the path and lent in to retrieve an old packet of tobacco – complete with a used packet of Rizlas – that he had thrown away minutes before when he had decided to treat himself to fresh tobacco.

“There you are mate,” said Roland, “Here are some papers and tobacco for you.”

“Thank you mate. You’re a wheel diamond!” came the response.

This time Woland understood. And in a short while, when he was alone again, he laughed to himself as he dragged on his cigawette…